A Knight of the Nets by Amelia E. Barr

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if Sophy cannot like her fisher-lad in his fisher-dress, she isn'tworthy of him."

He was much pleased with this advice, for it precisely sorted with hisown feelings; and he stooped and kissed Christina, and she sent himaway with a smile and a good wish. Then she went to her mother, who wasin a little shed salting some fish. "Mother," she cried, "Andrew hasgone to Largo."

"Like enough. It would be stranger, if he had stopped at home."

"He has gone to ask Sophy to marry him next week--next Monday."

"Perfect nonsense! We'll have no such marrying in a hurry, and acorner. It will take a full month to marry Andrew Binnie. What wouldall our folks say, far and near, if they were not bid to the wedding?Set to that, you have to be married first. Marrying isn't likeChristmas, coming every year of our Lord; and we _be_ to make the mostof it. I'll not give my consent to any such like hasty work. Why, theyare not even 'called' in the kirk yet."

"Andrew can get a licence."

"Andrew can get a fiddle-stick! None of the Binnies were ever married,but by word of the kirk, and none of them shall be, if I can help it.Licence indeed! Buying the right to marry for a few shillings, and thenext thing will be a few more shillings for the right to un-marry. I'llnot hear tell of such a way."

"But, Mother, if Andrew does not get Sophy at once, he may lose heraltogether."

"_Humph_! No great loss."

"The biggest loss in the world that Andrew can have. Things are come toa pass. If Andrew does not marry her at once, I am feared Braelandswill carry her off."

"He is welcome to her."

"No, no, Mother! Do you want Braelands to get the best of Andrew?"

"The like of him get the best of Andrew! I'll not believe it. Sophyisn't beyond all sense of right and feeling. If, after all these years,she left Andrew for that fine gentleman, she would be a very Jael ofdeceit and treachery. I wish I had told her about her mother's secondcousin, bonnie Lizzie Lauder."

"What of her? I never heard tell, did I, Mother?"

"No. We don't speak of Lizzie now."

"Why then?"

"She was very bonnie, and she was very like Sophy about hating to work;and she was never done crying to all the gates of pleasure to open wideand let her enter. And she went in."

"Well, Mother? Is that all?"

"No. I wish in God's mercy it was! The avenging gates closed on her.She is shut up in hell. There, I'll say no more."

"Yes, Mother. You will ask God's mercy for her. It never faileth."

Janet turned away, and lifted her apron to her eyes, and stood sosilent for a few minutes. And Christina left her alone, and went backinto the house place, and began to wash up the breakfast-cups and cutup some vegetables for their early dinner. And by-and-by her motherjoined her, and Christina began to tell how Andrew had promised her asilk gown for her wedding. This bit of news was so wonderful anddelightful to Janet, that it drove all other thoughts far from her. Shesat down to discuss it with all the care and importance the subjectdemanded. Every colour was considered; and when the colour had beendecided, there was then the number of yards and the kind of trimming tobe discussed, and the manner of its making, and the person mostsuitable to undertake the momentous task. For Janet was at that hourangry with Mistress Kilgour, and not inclined to "put a bawbee herway," seeing that it was most likely she had been favouring Braeland'ssuit, and therefore a bitter enemy to Andrew.

After the noon meal, Janet took her knitting, and went to tell as manyof her neighbours as it was possible to see during the short afternoon,about the silk gown her Christina was to be married in; and Christinaspread her ironing table, and began to damp, and fold, and smooth theclean linen. And as she did so, she sang a verse or two of 'HuntingTower,' and then she thought awhile, and then she sang again. And shewas so happy, that her form swayed to her movements; it seemed to smileas she walked backwards and forwards with the finished garments or thehot iron in her hands. She was thinking of the happy home she wouldmake for Jamie, and of all the bliss that was coming to her. For beforea bird flies you may see its wings, and Christina was already pluminghers for a flight into that world which in her very ignorance sheinvested with a thousand unreal charms.

She did not expect Andrew back until the evening. He would most likelyhave a long talk with Sophy; there was so much to tell her, and when itwas over, it would be in a large measure to tell again to MistressKilgour. Then it was likely Andrew would take tea with his promisedwife, and perhaps they might have a walk afterwards; so, calculatingall these things. Christina came to the conclusion that it would bewell on to bed time, before she knew what arrangements Andrew had madefor his marriage and his life after it.

Not a single unpleasant doubt troubled her mind, she thought she knewSophy's nature so well; and she could hardly conceive it possible, thatthe girl should have any reluctances about a lad so well known, sogood, and so handsome, and with such a fine future before him, asAndrew Binnie. All Sophy's flights and fancies, all her favours toyoung Braelands, Christina put down to the dissatisfaction Sophy sooften expressed with her position, and the vanity which arose naturallyfrom her recognised beauty and youthful grace. But to be "a settledwoman," with a loving husband and "a house of her own," seemed toChristina an irresistible offer; and she smiled to herself when shethought of Sophy's surprise, and of the many pretty little airs andconceits the state of bridehood would be sure to bring forth in herself-indulgent nature.

"She will be provoking enough, no doubt," she whispered as she set theiron sharply down; "but I'll never notice it. She is very little morethan a bairn, and but a canary-headed creature added to that. In a yearor two, Andrew, and marriage, and maybe motherhood, will sober andsettle her. And Andrew loves her so. Most as well as Jamie loves me.For Andrew's sake, then, I'll bear with all her provoking ways andwords. She'll be _our own_, anyway, and we be to have patience withthey of our own household. Bonnie wee Sophy."

It was about mid-afternoon when she came to this train of forbearingand conciliating reflections. She was quite happy in it; for Christinawas one of those wise women, who do not look into their ideals andhopes too closely. Her face reflecting them was beautiful and benign;and her shoulders, and hands, her supple waist and limbs, continued thesymphonies of her soft, deep, loving eyes and her smiling mouth. Everynow and then she burst into song; and then her thrilling voice, sosweet and fresh, had tones in it that only birds and good women full oflove may compass. Mostly the song was a lilt or a verse which spoke forher own heart and love; but just as the clock struck three, she brokeinto a low laugh which ended in a merry, mocking melody, and which wasevidently the conclusion of her argument concerning Sophy's behaviouras Andrew's wife--

"Toot! toot! quoth the grey-headed father, She's less of a bride than a bairn;She's ta'en like a colt from the heather, With sense and discretion to learn.

"Half-husband I trow, and half daddy, As humour inconstantly leans;The man must be patient and steady, That weds with a lass in her teens."

She had hardly finished the verse, when she heard a step blending withits echoes. Her ears rung inward; her eyes dilated with an unhappyexpectancy; she put down her iron with a sudden faint feeling, andturned her face to the door.

Andrew entered the cottage. He looked at her despairingly, and sinkinginto his chair, he covered his wretched face with his hands.

It was not the same man who had left her a few hours before. A change,like that which a hot iron would make upon a green leaf, had been madein her handsome, hopeful, happy brother. She could not avoid anexclamation that was a cry of terror; and she went to him and kissedhim, and murmured, she knew not what words of pity and love. Undertheir influence, the flood gates of sorrow were unloosed, he began toweep, to sob, to shake and tremble, like a reed in a tempest.

Christina saw that his soul was tossed from top to bottom, and in themadness of the storm, she knew it was folly to ask "why?" But she wentto the door, closed it, slipped forward the bolt, and then came back tohis side, waiting there patiently until the first paroxysm of his griefwas over. Then she said softly:--

"Andrew, tell me a straight tale. You are not a woman to let any sorrowget the mastery over you."

"Sophy has gone from me. She has played me false--and after all theseyears, deceived and left me."

"Then there is still the Faithful One. His love is from everlasting, toeverlasting. He changeth not."

"Ay; I know," he said drearily. But he straightened himself andunfastened the button at his throat, and stood up on his feet, plantingthem far apart, as if he felt the earth like the reeling deck of aship. And Christina opened the little window, and drew his chair nearit, and let the fresh breeze blow upon him; and her heart throbbedhotly with anger and pity.

"Sit down in the sea wind, Andrew," she said. "There's strength and abreath of comfort in it; and try and give your trouble words. Did yousee Sophy?"

"Ay; I saw her."

"At her aunt's house?"

"No. I met her on the road. She was in a dog-cart; and the master ofBraelands was driving her. I saw her, ere she saw me; and she waslooking in his face as she never looked in my face. She loves him,Christina, as she never loved me."

"Did you speak to her?"

"I was that foolish, and left to myself. She was going to pass me,without a look or a word; but I could not thole the scorn and pain ofit, and I called out to her, '_Sophy_! _Sophy_!'"

"And she did not answer you?"

"She cruddled closer to Braelands. And then he lifted the whip to hurrythe horse; and before I knew what I was doing, I had the beast by thehead--and the lash of the whip--struck me clean across the cheek bone."

"Oh Andrew! Andrew!" And she bent forward and looked at the outragedcheek, and murmuring, "I see the mark of it! I see the mark of it!" shekissed the long, white welt, and wetted it with her indignant tears.

Andrew sat passive under her sympathy until she asked, "Did Braelandssay anything when he struck you? Had he no word of excuse?"

"He said: 'It is your own fault, fisherman. The lash was meant for thehorse, and not for you.'"

"Well?"

"And I was in a passion; and I shouted some words I should not havesaid--words I never said in my life before. I didn't think the like ofthem were in my heart."

"I don't blame you, Andrew."

"I blame myself though. Then I bid Sophy get out of the cart and cometo me;--and--"

"Yes, dear?"

"And she never moved or spoke; she just covered her face with herhands, and gave a little scream;--for no doubt I had frighted her--andBraelands, he got into the de'il's own rage then, and dared me to callthe lady 'Sophy' again; 'for,' said he, 'she will be my wife beforemany days'; and with that, he struck the horse savagely again andagain, and the poor beast broke from my hand, and bounded for'ard; andI fell on my back, and the wheels of the cart grazed the soles of myshoon as they passed me."

"And then?"

"I don't know how long I lay there."

"And they went on and left you lying in the highway?"

"They went on."

"The wicked lass! Oh the wicked, heartless lass!"

"You are not able to judge her, Christina."

"But you can judge Braelands. Get a warrant for the scoundrel the morn.He is without the law."

"Then I would make Sophy the common talk, far and near. How could Iwrong Sophy to right myself?"

"But the whip lash! the whip lash! Andrew. You cannot thole the like ofthat!"

"There was One tholed for me the lash and the buffet, and answer'dnever a word. I can thole the lash for Sophy's sake. A poor love Iwould have for Sophy, if I put my own pride before her good name. If Iget help 'from beyond,' I can thole the lash, Christina."

He was white through all the tan of wind, and sea, and sun; and thesweat of his suffering stood in great beads on his pallid face andbrow. Christina lifted a towel, which she had just ironed, and wiped itaway; and he said feebly;--

"Thank you, dear lass! I will go to my bed a wee."

So Christina opened the door of his room and he tottered in, swayinglike a drunken man, and threw himself upon his bed. Five minutesafterward she stepped softly to his side. He was sunk in deep sleep,fathoms below the tide of grief whose waves and billows had gone overhim.

"Thanks be to the Merciful!" she whispered. "When the sorrow is toogreat, then He giveth His beloved sleep."

CHAPTER V

THE LOST BRIDE

This unforeseen and unhappy meeting forced a climax in Sophy's loveaffairs, which she had hitherto not dared to face. In fact,circumstances tending that way had arisen about a week previously; andit was in consequence of them, that she was publicly riding withBraelands when Andrew met them. For a long time she had insisted onsecrecy in her intercourse with her "friend." She was afraid of Andrew;she was afraid of her aunt; she was afraid of being made a talk and aspeculation to the gossips of the little town. And though Miss Kilgourhad begun to suspect somewhat, she was not inclined to verify hersuspicions. Madame Braelands was a good customer, therefore she did notwish to know anything about a matter which she was sure would be agreat annoyance to that lady.

But Madame herself forced the knowledge on her. Some friend had calledat Braelands and thought it right to let her know what a dangerousaffair her son was engaged in. "For the girl is beautiful," she said,"there is no denying that; and she comes of fisher-folk, who havesimply no idea but that love words and love-kisses must lead tomarrying and housekeeping, and who will bitterly resent and avenge awrong done to any woman of their class, as you well know, Madame."

Madame did know this very well; and apart from her terror of a_mesalliance_ for the heir of Braelands, there was the fact that hisfamily had always had great political influence, and looked to a publicrecognition of it. The fisher vote was an important factor in thereturn of any aspirant for Parliamentary honour; and she felt keenlythat Archie was endangering his whole future career by his attentionsto a girl whom it was impossible he should marry, but who would havethe power to arouse against him a bitter antagonism, if he did notmarry her.

She affected to her friend a total indifference to the subject of herson's amusements, and she said "she was moreover sure that ArchibaldBraelands would never do anything to prejudice his own honour, or thehonour of the humblest fisher-girl in Fifeshire." But all the same, herheart was sick with fear and anxiety; and as soon as her informant hadgone, she ordered her carriage, dressed herself in all her braveries,and drove hastily to Mistress Kilgour's.

At that very hour, this lady was fussing and fuming angrily at herniece. Sophy had insisted on going for a walk, and in the altercationattending this resolve, Mistress Kilgour had unadvisably given speechto her suspicions about Sophy's companion in these frequent walks, andthreatened her with a revelation of these doubts to Andrew Binnie. Butin spite of all, Sophy had left the house; and her aunt was nursing herwrath against her when Madame Braeland's carriage clattered up to hershop door.

Now if Madame had been a prudent woman, and kept the rein on herprideful temper, she would have found Mistress Kilgour in the very moodsuitable for an ally. But Madame had also been nursing her wrath, andas soon as Mistress Kilgour had appeared, she asked angrily:--

"Where is that niece of yours, Mistress Kilgour? I should very muchlike to know."

The tone of the question irritated the dressmaker, and instantly hersympathies flew toward her own kith, and kin, and class. Also, hercaution was at once aroused, and she answered the question,Scotch-wise, by another question:--

"What for are you requiring to see Sophy, Madame?"

"Is she in the house?"

"Shall I go and see?"

"Go and see, indeed! You know well she is not. You know she is awaysomewhere, walking or driving with my son--with the heir of Braelands.Oh, I have heard all about their shameful carryings-on."

"You'll not need to use the word 'shameful' with regard to my niece,Sophy Traill, Madame Braelands. She has never earned such a like word,and she never will. You may take my say-so for that."

"It is not anybody's say-so in this case. Seeing is believing, and theyhave been seen together, walking in Fernie wood, and down among therocks on the Elie coast, and in many other places."

"Well and good, Madame. What by that? Young things will be youngthings."

"What by that? Do you, a woman of your age, ask me such a question?When a gentleman of good blood and family, as well as great wealth,goes walking and driving with a poor girl of no family at all, do youask what by that? Nothing but disgrace and trouble can be looked for."

"Speak for your own kin and side, Madame. And I should think a woman ofyour age--being at least twenty years older than myself--would knowthat true love never asks for a girl's pedigree. And as for 'disgrace,'Sophy Traill will never call anything like 'disgrace' to herself. Iwill allow that Sophy is poor, but as for family, the Traills are ofthe best Norse strain. They were sea-fighters, hundreds of years beforethey were sea-fishers; and they had been 'at home' on the North Sea,and in all the lands about it, centuries before the like of theBraelands were thought or heard tell of."

Mistress Kilgour was rapidly becoming angry, and Madame would have beenwise to have noted the circumstance; but she herself was now past allprudence, and with an air of contempt she took out her jewelled watch,and beginning to slowly wind it, said:--

"My good woman, Sophy's father was a common fisherman. We have no callto go back to the time when her people were pirates and sea-robbers."

"I am _my own_ woman, Madame. And I will take my oath I am not _your_woman, anyhow. And 'common' or uncommon, the fishermen of Fife call noman master but the Lord God Almighty, from whose hands they take theirfood, summer and winter. And I will make free to say, moreover, that ifBraelands loves Sophy Traill and she loves him, worse might befall himthan Sophy for a wife. For if God thinks fit to mate them, it is notGriselda Kilgour that will take upon herself to contradict the Will ofHeaven."

"Don't talk rubbish, Mistress Kilgour. People who live in society haveto regard what society thinks and says."

"It is no ways obligatory, Madame, the voice of God and Nature has moreweight, I'm thinking, and if God links two together, you will find itgey and hard to separate them."

"I heard the girl was promised since her babyhood to a fisherman calledAndrew Binnie."

"For once you have heard the truth, Madame. But you know yourself thatbabyhood and womanhood are two different things; and the woman has justset at naught the baby. That is all."

"No, it is not all. This Andrew Binnie is a man of great influenceamong the fishers, and my son cannot afford to make enemies among thatclass. It will be highly prejudicial to him."

"I cannot help that Madame. Braelands is well able to row his own boat.At any rate, I am not called to take an oar in it."

"Yes, you are. I have been a good customer to you, Mistress Kilgour."

"I am not denying it; at the same time I have been a good dress andbonnet maker to you, and earned every penny-bit you have paid me. Theobligation is mutual, I'm thinking."

"I can be a still better customer if you will prevent thisgentle-shepherding and love-making. I would not even scruple at atwenty pound note, or perhaps two of them."

"_Straa_! If you were Queen of England, Madame, I would call you aninsolent dastard, to try and bribe me against my own flesh and blood.You are a very Judas, to think of such a thing. Good blood! finefamily! indeed! If your son is like yourself, I'm not caring for himcoming into my family at all."

"Mistress Kilgour, you may close my account with you. I shall employyou no more."

"Pay me the sixteen pounds odd you owe me, and then I will shut mybooks forever against Braelands. Accounts are not closed tilloutstanding money is paid in."

"I shall send the money."

"The sight of the money would be better than the promise of it, Madame;for some of it is owing more than a twelvemonth;" and Mistress Kilgourhastily turned over to the Braelands page of her ledger, while Madame,with an air of affront and indignation, hastily left the shop.

Following this wordy battle with her dressmaker, Madame had an equallystubborn one with her son, the immediate consequence of which was thatvery interview whose close was witnessed by Andrew Binnie. In thisconference Braelands acknowledged his devotion to Sophy, and earnestlypleaded for Mistress Kilgour's favour for his suit. She was now quiteinclined to favour him. Her own niece, as mistress of Braelands, wouldbe not only a great social success, but also a great financial one.Madame Braelands's capacity for bonnets was two every year; Sophy'scapacity was unlimited. Madame considered four dresses annually quiteextravagant; Sophy's ideas on the same subject were constantlyenlarging. And then there would be the satisfaction of overcomingMadame. So she yielded easily and gracefully to Archie Braelands'spetition, and thus Sophy suddenly found herself able to do openly whatshe had hitherto done secretly, and the question of her marriage withBraelands accepted as an understood conclusion.

At this sudden culmination of her hardly acknowledged desires, the girlwas for a short tune distracted. She felt that Andrew must now bedefinitely resigned, and a strangely sad feeling of pity and reluctanceassailed her. There were moments she knew not which lover was dearestto her. The habit of loving Andrew had grown through long years in herheart; she trusted him as she trusted no other mortal, she was notprepared to give up absolutely all rights in a heart so purely and sodevotedly her own. For if she knew anything, she knew right well thatno other man would ever give her the same unfaltering, unselfishaffection.

And when she dared to consider truthfully her estimate of ArchieBraelands, she judged his love, passionate as it was, did not ring truethrough all its depths. There were times when her little _gaucheries_fretted him; when her dress did not suit him; when he put aside anengagement with her for a sail with a lord, or a dinner party withfriends, or a social function at his own home. Andrew put no one beforeher; and even the business that kept him from her side was all for herfuture happiness. Every object and every aim of his life had referenceto her. It was hard to give up such a perfect love, and she felt thatshe could not see Andrew face to face and do it. Hence her refusals tomeet him, and her shyness and silence when a meeting was unavoidable.Hence, also, came a very peculiar attitude of Andrew's friends andmates; for they could not conceive how Andrew's implicit faith in hislove should prevent him from finding out what was so evident to everyman and woman in Largo.

Alas! the knowledge had now come to him. That it could have come in anyharder way, it is difficult to believe. There was only one palliationto its misery--it was quite unpremeditated--but even this mitigationof the affront hardly brought him any comfort as yet Braelands wascertainly deeply grieved at the miserable outcome of the meeting. Heknew the pride of the fisher race, and he had himself a manly instinct,strong enough to understand the undeserved humiliation of Andrew'sposition. Honestly, as a gentleman, he was sorry the quarrel had takenplace; as a lover, he was anxious to turn it to his own advantage. Forhe saw that, in spite of all her coldness and apparent apathy, Sophywas affected and wounded by Andrew's bitter imploration and itswretched and sorrowful ending. If the man should gain her ear andsympathy, Braelands feared for the result. He therefore urged her to animmediate marriage; and when Mistress Kilgour was taken into counsel,she encouraged the idea, because of the talk which was sure to followsuch a flagrant breach of the courtesies of life.

But even at this juncture, Sophy's vanity must have its showing; andshe refused to marry, until at least two or three suitable dressesshould have been prepared; so the uttermost favour that could beobtained from the stubborn little bride was a date somewhere within twoweeks away.

During these two weeks there was an unspeakable unhappiness in theBinnie household. For oh, how dreary are those wastes of life, left bythe loved who have deserted us! These are the vacant places we waterwith our bitterest tears. Had Sophy died, Andrew would have said, "Itis the Lord; let him do what seemeth right in his sight." But themanner and the means of his loss filled him with a dumb sorrow andrage; for in spite of his mother's and sister's urging, he would donothing to right his own self-respect at the price of giving Sophy theslightest trouble or notoriety. Suffer! Yes, he suffered at home, whereJanet and Christina continually reminded him of the insult he ought toavenge; and he suffered also abroad, where his mates looked at him witheyes full of surprise and angry inquiries.

But though the village was ringing with gossip about Sophy and youngBraelands, never a man or woman in it ventured to openly question thestern, sullen, irritable man who had been so long recognised as heraccepted lover. And whether he was in the boats or out of them, no onedared to speak Sophy's name in his presence. Indeed, upon the whole, hewas during these days what Janet Binnie called "an ill man to livewith--a man out of his senses, and falling away from his meat and hisclothes."

This misery continued for about two weeks without any abatement, andJanet's and Christina's sympathy was beginning to be tinged withresentment. It seems so unnatural and unjust, that a girl who hadalready done them so much wrong, and who was so far outside their dailylife, should have the power to still darken their home, and infuse abitter drop into their peculiar joys and hopes.

"I am glad the wicked lass isn't near by me," said Janet one morning,when Andrew had declared himself unable to eat his breakfast and goneout of the cottage to escape his mother's pleadings and reproofs. "I'mglad she isn't near me. If she was here, I could not keep my tonguefrom her. She should hear the truth for once, if she never heard itagain. They should be words as sharp as the birch rod she ought to havehad, when she first began her nonsense, and her airs and graces."

"She is a bad girl; but we must remember that she was left much toherself--no mother to guide her, no sister or brother either."

"It would have been a pity if there had been more of them. One scone ofthat baking is enough. The way she has treated our Andrew isabominable. Flesh and blood can't bear such doings."

As Janet made this assertion, a cousin of Sophy's came into thecottage, and answered her. "I know you are talking of Sophy," she said,"and I am not wondering at the terrivee you are making. As for me,though she is my cousin, I'll never exchange the Queen's language withher again as long as I live in this world. But all bad things come toan end, as well as good ones, and I am bringing what will put a stop atlast to all this clishmaclaver about that wearisome lassie,"--and withthese words she handed Janet two shining white cards, tied togetherwith a bit of silver wire.

They were Sophy's wedding cards; and she had also sent from Edinburgh anewspaper containing a notice of her marriage to Archibald Braelands.The news was very satisfactory to Janet. She held the bits of cardboardwith her fingertips, looking grimly at the names upon them. Then shelaughed, not very pleasantly, at the difference in the size of thecards. "He has the wee card now," she said, "and Sophy the big one; butI'm thinking the wee one will grow big, and the big one grow littlebefore long. I will take them to Andrew myself; the sight of them willbe a bitter medicine, but it will do him good. Folks may count it greatgain when they get rid of a false hope."

Andrew was walking moodily about the bit of bare turf in front of thecottage door, stopping now and then to look over the sea, where thebrown sails of some of the fishing boats still caught the lazy southwind. He was thinking that the sea was cloudy, and that there was anevil-looking sky to the eastward; and then, as his mind took in at thesame moment the dangers to the fishers who people the grey waters andhis own sorrowful wrong, he turned and began to walk aboutmuttering--"Lord help us! We must bear what is sent."

Then Janet called him, and he watched for her approach. She put thecards into his hand saying, "Sophy's cousin, Isobel Murray, broughtthem." Her voice was full of resentment; and Andrew, not at the momentrealising a custom so unfamiliar in a fishing-village, lookedwonderingly in his mother's face, and then at the fateful whitemessengers.

"Read the names on them, Andrew man, and you'll know then why they aresent to Pittendurie."

Then he looked steadily at the inscription, and the struggle of theinner man shook the outward man visibly. It was like a shot in thebackbone. But it was only for a moment he staggered; though he had fewresources, his faith in the Cross and his confidence in himself madehim a match for his hard fate. It is in such critical moments the soulreveals if it be selfish or generous, and Andrew, with a quick upwardfling of the head, regained absolutely that self-control, which he hadvoluntarily abdicated.

"You will tell Isobel," he said, "that I wish Mistress Braelands everygood thing, both for this life and the next." Then he stepped closer tohis mother and kissed her; and Janet was so touched and amazed that shecould not speak. But the look of loving wonder on her face was farbetter than words. And as she stood looking at him, Andrew put thecards in his pocket, and went down to the sea; and Janet returned tothe cottage and gave Isobel the message he had sent.

But this information, so scanty and yet so conclusive, by no meanssatisfied the curiosity of the women. A great deal of indignation wasexpressed by Sophy's kindred and friends in the village at her totalignoring of their claims. They did not expect to be invited to a houselike Braelands; but they did think Sophy ought to have visited them andtold them all about her preparations and future plans. They were herown flesh and blood, and they deeply resented her non-recognition ofthe claims of kindred. Isobel, as the central figure of thisdissatisfaction, was a very important person. She at least had received"cards," and the rest of the cousins to the sixth degree felt that theyhad been grossly slighted in the omission. So Isobel, for the sake ofher own popularity, was compelled to make common cause, and to assertpositively that "she thought little of the compliment." Sophy onlywanted her folk to know she was now Mistress Braelands, and she hadpicked her out to carry the news--good or bad news, none yet could say.

Janet was not inclined to discuss the matter with her. She was so coldabout it, that Isobel quickly discovered she had 'work to finish at herown house,' for she recollected that if the Binnies were not inclinedto talk over the affair there were plenty of wives and maids inPittendurie who were eager to do so. So Janet and Christina werequickly left to their own opinions on the marriage, the first of whichwas, that "Sophy had behaved very badly to them."

"But I wasn't going to say bad words for Isobel to clash round thevillage," said Janet "and I am gey glad Andrew took the news soman-like and so Christian-like. They can't make any speculations aboutAndrew now, and that will be a sore disappointment to the hussies, forsome of them are but ill willy creatures."

"I am glad Andrew kept a brave heart, and could bring good words out ofit."

"What else would you expect from Andrew? Do you think Andrew Binniewill fret himself one moment about a wife that is not his wife? Hewould not give the de'il such a laugh over him. You may take my word,that he will break no commandment for any lass; and Sophy Braelandswill now have to vacate his very thoughts."

"I am glad she is married then. If her marriage cures Andrew of thatnever-ending fret about her, it will be a comfort."

"It is a cure, sure as death, as far as your brother is concerned.Fancy Andrew Binnie pining and worrying about Archie Braelands's wife!The thing would be sinful, and therefore fairly impossible to him! I'mas glad as you are that no worse than marriage has come to the lass;she is done with now, and I am wishing her no more ill than she hascalled to herself."

"She has brought sorrow enough to our house," said Christina. "All thedays of my own courting have been saddened and darkened with the worryand the care of her. Andrew was always either that set up or thatknocked down about her, that he could not give a thought to Jamie's andmy affairs. It was only when you talked about Sophy, or his weddingwith Sophy, that he looked as if the world was worth living in. He wasfast growing into a real selfish man."

"_Toots!_ Every one in love--men or women--are as selfish as they canbe. The whole round world only holds two folk: their own self, andanother. I would like to have a bit of chat before long, that did notset itself to love-making and marrying."

"Goodness, Mother! You have not chatted much with me lately aboutlove-making and marrying. Andrew's trouble has filled the house, andyou have hardly said a word about poor Jamie, who never gave either ofus a heartache. I wonder where he is to-day!"

Janet thought a moment and then answered: "He would leave New York forScotland, last Saturday. 'T is Wednesday morning now, and he will maybereach Glasgow next Tuesday. Then it will not take him many hours tofind himself in Pittendurie."

"I doubt it. He will not be let come and go as he wants to. It wouldnot be reasonable. He will have to obey orders. And when he gets off,it will be a kind of favour. A steamboat and a fishing-boat are twodifferent things, Mother, forbye, Jamie is but a new hand, and willhave his way to win."

"What are you talking about, you silly, fearful lassie? It would be apoor-like, heartless captain, that had not a fellow-feeling for a ladin love. Jamie will just have to tell him about yourself, and he willsend the lad off with a laugh, or maybe a charge not to forget theship's sailing-day. Hope well, and have well, lassie."

"You'll be far mistaken, Mother. I am not expecting Jamie for more thantwo or three trips--but he'll be thinking of me, and I can not helpthinking of him."

"Think away, Christina. Loving thoughts keep out others, not as good. Iwonder how it would do to walk as far as Largo, and find out all aboutthe marriage from Griselda Kilgour. Then _I_ would have the essentials,and something worth telling and talking about."

"I would go, Mother. Griselda will be thirsty to tell all she knows,and just distracted with the glory of her niece. She will hold herselfvery high, no doubt."

"Griselda and her niece are two born fools, and I am not to be put tothe wall by the like of them. And it is not beyond hoping, that I'll beable to give the woman a mouthful of sound advice. She's a set-up body,but I shall disapprove of all she says."

"You may disapprove till you are black in the face, Mother, butGriselda will hold her own; she is neither flightersome, nor easyfrightened. I'm feared it is going to rain. I see the glass hasfallen."

"I'm not minding the 'glass'. The sky is clear, and I think far more ofthe sky, and the look of it, than I do of the 'glass'. I wonder atAndrew hanging it in our house; it is just sinful and unlucky to betaking the change of the weather out of His hands. But rain or fine, Iam going to Largo."

As she spoke, she was taking out of her kist a fine Paisley shawl and abonnet, and with Christina's help she was soon dressed to her ownsatisfaction. Fortunately one of the fishers was going with his cart toLargo, so she got a lift over the road, and reached Griselda Kilgour'searly in the afternoon. There were no bonnets and caps in the window ofthe shop, and when Janet entered, the place had a covered-up,Sabbath-day look that kindled her curiosity. The ringing of the bellquickly brought Mistress Kilgour forward, and she also had an unusuallook. But she seemed pleased to see Janet, and very heartily asked herinto the little parlour behind.

"I'm just home," she said, "and I'm making myself a cup of tea ere Isort up the shop and get to my day's work again. Sit down, Janet, andtake off your things, and have a cup with me. Strange days and strangedoings in them lately!"

"You may well lift up your eyes and your hands, Griselda. I never heardtell of the like. The whole village is in a flustration; and I justcame o'er-by, to find out from you the long and the short ofeverything. I'm feared you have been sorely put about with the wilfullass."

"Mistress Braelands had no one to lippen to but me. I had everything tolook after. The Master of Braelands was that far gone in love, hewasn't to be trusted with anything. But my niece has done a good jobfor herself."

"It is well _some one_ has got good out of her treachery. She broughtsorrow enough to my house. But I'm glad it is all over, and thatBraelands has got her. She wouldn't have suited my son at all,Griselda."

"Not in the least," answered the dressmaker with an air of offence."How many lumps of sugar, Janet?"

"I'm not taking sugar. Where was the lass married?"

"In Edinburgh." We didn't want any talk and fuss about the wedding, andBraelands he said to me, 'Mistress Kilgour, if you will take a littleholiday, and go with Sophy to Edinburgh, and give her your help aboutthe things she requires, we shall both of us be your life-longdebtors.' And I thought Edinburgh was the proper place, and so I wentwith Sophy--putting up a notice on the shop door that I had gone tolook at the winter fashions and would be back to-day--and here I am forI like to keep my word.

"You didn't keep it with my Andrew, for you promised to help him withSophy, you promised that more than once or twice."

"No one can help a man who fights against himself, and Andrew never didprize Sophy as Braelands did, the way that man ran after the lass, andcoaxed and courted and pleaded with her! And the bonnie things he gaveher! And the stone blind infatuation of the creature! Well I never sawthe like. He was that far gone in love, there was nothing for him butstanding up before the minister."

"What minister?"

"Dr. Beith of St. Andrews. Braelands sits in St. Andrews, when he is inEdinburgh for the winter season and Dr. Beith is knowing him well. Iwish you could have seen the dresses and the mantillas, the bonnets andthe fineries of every sort I had to buy Sophy, not to speak of therings and gold chains and bracelets and such things, that Braelandsjust laid down at her feet."

"What kind of dresses?"

"Silks and satins--white for the wedding-dress--and pink, and blue andtartan and what not! I tell you McFinlay and Co. were kept busy day andnight for Sophy Braelands."

Then Mistress Kilgour entered into a minute description of all Sophy'sbeautiful things, and Janet listened attentively, not only for her owngratification, but also for that of every woman in Pittendurie. Indeedshe appeared so interested that her entertainer never suspected theanger she was restraining with difficulty until her curiosity had beensatisfied. But when every point had been gone over, when the last thingabout Sophy's dress and appearance had been told and discussed, Janetsuddenly inquired, "Have they come back to Largo yet?"

"Indeed nothing so common," answered Griselda, proudly. "They have goneto foreign lands--to France, and Italy, and Germany,"--and then with adaring imagination she added, "and it's like they won't stop short ofAsia and America."

"Well, Jamie Logan, my Christina's promised man is on the Americanline. I dare say he will be seeing her on his ship, and no doubt hewill do all he can to pleasure her."

"Jamie Logan! Sophy would not think of noticing him now. It would notbe proper."

"What for not? He is as good a man as Archie Braelands, and if allreports be true, a good deal better."

"_Archie_ indeed! I'm thinking 'Master Braelands' would be more as itshould be."

"I'll never 'master' him. He is no 'master' of mine. What for does hehave a Christian name, if he is not to be called by it?"

"Well, Janet, you need not show your temper. Goodness knows, it is asshort as a cat's hair. And Braelands is beyond your tongue, anyhow."

"I'm not giving him a word. Sophy will pay every debt he is owing meand mine. The lassie has been badly guided all her life, and as shewould not be ruled by the rudder, she must be ruled by the rocks."

"Think shame of yourself! For speaking ill to a new-made bride! Howwould you like me to say such words to Christina?"

"Christina would never give occasion for them. She is as true as steelto her own lad."

"Maybe she has no temptation to be false. That makes a deal of differ.Anyway, Sophy is a woman now in the married state, and answerable tonone but her husband. I hope Andrew is not fretting more than might beexpected."

"Andrew! Andrew fretting! Not he! Not a minute! As soon as he knew shewas a wife, he cast her out of his very thoughts. You don't catchAndrew Binnie putting a light-of-love lassie before a command of God."

"I won't hear you talk of my niece--of the mistress of Braelands--inthat kind of a way, Janet. She's our betters now, and we be to takenotice of the fact"

"She'll have to learn and unlearn a good lot before she is to be spokeof as any one's 'betters.' I hope while she is seeing the world shewill get her eyes opened to her own faults; they will give her plentyto think of."

"Keep me, woman! Such a way to go on about your own kin."

"She is no kin to the Binnies. I have cast her out of my reckoning."

"She is Christina's sixth cousin."

"She is nothing at all to us. I never did set any store by those Orkneyfolks--a bad lot! A very selfish, false, bad lot!"

"You are speaking of my people, Janet."

"I am quite aware of it, Griselda."

"Then keep your tongue in bounds."

"My tongue is my own."

"My house is my own. And if you can't be civil, I'll be necessitated toask you to leave it."

"I'm going as soon as I have told you that you have the mostgun-powdery temper I ever came across; forbye, you are fairly drunkwith the conceit and vanity of Sophy's grand marriage. You are full asthe Baltic with the pride of it, woman!"

"Temper! It is you, that are in a temper."

"That's neither here nor there. I have my reasons."

"Reasons, indeed! I'd like to see you reasonable for once."

"Yes, I have my reasons. How was my lad Andrew used by the both of you?And what do you think of his last meeting with that heartless limmerand her fine sweetheart?"

"Andrew should have kept himself out of their way. As soon as Braelandscame round Sophy, Andrew got the very de'il in him. I was aye fearedthere would be murder laid to his name."

"You needn't have been feared for the like of that. Andrew Binnie hasenough of the devil in him to keep the devil out of him. Do you thinkhe would put blood on his soul for Sophy Traill? No, not for twentylasses better than her! You needn't look at me as if your eyes werecocked pistols. I have heard all I wanted to hear, and said all Iwanted to say, and now I'll be stepping homeward."

"I'll be obligated to you to go at once--the sooner the better."

"And I'll never speak to you again in this world, Griselda; nor in thenext world either, unless you mend your manners. Mind that!"

"You are just full of envy, and all uncharitableness, and evilspeaking, Janet Binnie. But I trust I have more of the grace of Godabout me than to return your ill words."

"That may be. It only shows folk that the grace of God will bide withan old woman that no one else can bide with."

"Old woman! I am twenty years younger--"

But Janet had passed out of the room and clashed the shop door behindher with a pealing ring; so Griselda's little scream of indignationnever reached her. It is likely, however, she anticipated the wordsthat followed her, for she went down the street, folding her shawl overher ample chest, and smiling the smile of those who have thrown thelast word of offence.

She did not reach home until quite dark, for she was stopped frequentlyby little groups of the wives and maids of Pittendurie, who wanted tohear the news about Sophy. It pleased Janet, for some reason, tomagnify the girl's position and all the fine things it had brought her.Perhaps, because she felt dimly that it placed Andrew's defeat in abetter Tight. No one could expect a mere fisherman to have any chanceagainst a man able to shower silks and satins and gold and jewels uponhis bride, and who could take her to France and Italy and Germany, notto speak of Asia and America.

But if this was her motive, it was a bit of motherhood thrown away.Andrew had sources of comfort and vindication which looked far beyondall petty social opinion. He was on the sea alone till nearly dark;then he came home, with the old grave smile on his face, saying, as heentered the house, "There will be a heavy blow from the northeastto-night, Christina. I see the boats are all at anchor, and no prospectof a fishing."

"Ay, and I saw the birds, who know more than we do, making for therocks. I wish mother would come,"--and she opened the door and lookedout into the dark vacancy. "There is a voice in the sea to-night,Andrew, and I don't like the wail of it."

But Andrew had gone to his room, and so she left the door open untilJanet returned. And the first question Janet asked was concerningAndrew. "Has he come home yet, Christina? I'm feared for a boat on thesea to-night."

"He is home, and I think he has fallen asleep. He looked very tired."

"How is he taking his trouble?"

"Like a man. Like himself. He has had his wrestle out on the sea, andhas come out with a victory."

"The Lord be thanked! Now, Christina, I have heard everything aboutthat wicked lassie. Let us have a cup of tea and a herring--for it islittle good I had of Griselda's wishy-washy brew--and then I'll tellyou the news of the wedding, the beginning and the end of it."

CHAPTER VI

WHERE IS MY MONEY?

In the morning it was still more evident that Andrew had thrown himselfon God, and--unperplext seeking, had found him. But Janet wondered alittle that he did not more demonstratively seek the comfort of TheBook. It was her way in sorrow to appeal immediately to its knownpassages of promise and comfort, and she laid it open in his way withthe remark:

"There is the Bible. Andrew; it will have a word, no doubt, for you."

"And there is the something beyond the Bible, Mother, if you will beseeking it. When the Lord God speaks to a man, he has the perfection ofcounsel, and he will not be requiring the word of a prophet or anapostle. From the heart of The Unseen a voice calls to him, and giveshim patience under suffering. I _know_, for I have heard and answeredit." Then he walked to the door, and opening it, he stood thererepeating to himself, as he looked over the waters which had been thefield of his conflict and his victory:--

"But peace they have that none may gain that live; And rest about them that no love can give And over them, while death and life shall be, The light and sound and darkness of the Sea."

It was a verse that meant more to Andrew than he would have been ableto explain. He only knew that it led him somehow through those dim,obscure pathways of spiritual life, on which the light of common daydoes not shine. And as he stood there, his mother and sister feltvaguely that they knew what "moral beauty" meant, and were the betterfor the knowledge.

He did not try to forget Sophy; he only placed her beyond his ownhorizon; and whereas he had once thought of her with personal hope anddesire, he now remembered her only with a prayer for her happiness, orif by chance his tongue spoke her name, he added a blessing with it.Never did he make a complaint of her desertion, but he wept inwardly;and it was easy to see that he spent many of those hours that make theheart grey, though they leave the hair untouched. And it was at thistime he contracted the habit of frequently looking up, finding in thevery act that sense of strength and help and adoration which isinseparable to it. And thus, day by day, he overcame the aching sorrowof his heart, for no man is ever crushed from without; if he is abasedto despair, his ruin has come from within.

About three weeks after Sophy's marriage, Christina was standing oneevening at the gloaming, looking over the immense, cheerless waste ofwaters. Mists, vague and troublous as the background of dreams, were onthe horizon, and there Was a feeling of melancholy in the air. But sheliked the damp, fresh wind, with its taste of brine, and she drew herplaid round her, and breathed it with a sense of enjoyment. Very soonAndrew came up the cliff, and he stood at her side, and they spoke ofJamie and wondered at his whereabouts, and after a little pause, Andrewadded:--

"Christina, I got a very important letter to-day, and I am goingto-morrow about the business I told you of. I want to start early inthe morning, so put up what I need in my little bag. And I wish you tosay nothing to mother until all things are settled."

"She will maybe ask me the question, Andrew."

"I told her I was going about a new boat, and she took me at my wordwithout this or that to it. She is a blithe creature, one of the Lord'smost contented bairns. I wish we were both more like her."

"I wish we were, Andrew. If we could just do as mother does! for sheleaves yesterday where it fell, and trusts to-morrow with God, and socatches every blink of happiness that passes by her."

"God forever bless her! There is no mother like the mother that boreus; we must aye remember that, Christina. But it is a dour, storm-likesky yon," he continued, pointing eastward. "We shall have a snoringbreeze before midnight."

Then Christina thought of her lover again, and as they turned in to thefireside, she began to tell her brother her hopes and fears aboutJamie, and to read him portions of a letter received that day fromAmerica. While Andrew's trouble had been fresh and heavy on him,Christina had refrained herself from all speech about her lover; shefelt instinctively that it would not be welcome and perhaps hardlykind. But this night it fell out naturally, and Andrew listened kindlyand made his sister very happy by his interest in all that related toJamie's future. Then he ate some bread and cheese with the women, andafter the exercise went to his room, for he had many things to preparefor his journey on the following day.

Janet continued the conversation. It related to her daughter's marriageand settlement in Glasgow, and of this subject she never wearied.

The storm Andrew had foreseen was by this time raging round thecottage, the Clustering waves making strange noises on the sands andfalling on the rocks with a keen, lashing sound It affected themgradually; their hearts became troubled, and they spoke low and withsad inflections, for both were thinking of the sailor-men and fishermenpeopling the lonely waters.

"I wouldn't put out to sea this night," said Janet. "No, not for acapful of sovereigns."

"Yet there will be plenty of boats, hammering through the big waves allnight long, till the dawn shows in the east; and it is very like thatJamie is now on the Atlantic--a stormy place, God knows!"

"A good passage, if it so pleases God!" said Janet, lifting her eyes toheaven, and Christina looked kindly at her mother for the wish. Buttalking was fast becoming difficult, for the wind had suddenly veeredmore northerly, and, sleet-laden, it howled and shrieked down the widechimney. In one of the pauses forced on them by this blatant intruder,they were startled by a human cry, loud and piercing, and quitedistinct from the turbulent roar of winds and waves.

Both women were on their feet on the instant Both had received the sameswift, positive impression, that it came from Andrew's room, and theywere at his door in a moment. It was locked. They called him, and hemade no answer. Again and again, with ever increasing terror, theyentreated him to open to them; for the door was solid and heavy, andthe lock large and strong, and no power they possessed could avail toforce an entrance. He heeded none of, their passionate prayers untilJanet began to cry bitterly. Then he turned the key and they entered.

Andrew looked at them with anger; his countenance was pale anddistraught, and a quiet fury burned in his eyes. He could not speak,and the women regarded him with fear and wonder. Presently he managedto articulate with a thick difficulty:--

"My money! My money! It is all gone!"

"Gone!" shrieked Christina, "that is just impossible."

"It is all gone!" Then he gripped her cruelly by the shoulder, andasked in a fierce whisper:

"What did you do with it?"

"Me? Andrew!"

"Ay, you! You wicked lass, you!"

"I never put finger on it"

"Christina! Christina! To think that I trusted you for this! Go out ofmy sight, will you! I'm not able to bear the face of you!"

"Andrew! Andrew! Surely, you are not calling me a 'thief'?"

"Who, then?" he cried, with gathering rage, "unless it be Jamie Logan?"

"Don't be so wicked as to wrong innocent folk such a way; Jamie neversaw, never heard tell of your money. The unborn babe is not moreguiltless than Jamie Logan."

"How do _you_ know that? How do _I_ know that? The very night I toldyou of the money--that very night I showed you where I kept it--thatnight Jamie ought to have been in the boats, and he was not in them.What do you make of that?"

"Nothing. He is as innocent as I am."

"And he was drinking with some strange man at the public. What werethey up to? Tell me that. And then he comes whistling up the road, andsays he missed his boat. A made up story! and after it he goes off toAmerica! Oh. woman! woman! If you can't put facts together. I can."

"Jamie never touched a bawbee of your money. I'll ware my life on that.For I never let on to any mortal creature that you had a penny ofsilent money. God Almighty knows I am speaking the truth."

"You won't dare to bring God Almighty's name into such a blackbusiness. Are you not feared to take it into your mouth?"

Then Janet laid her hand heavily on his shoulder. He had sat down onhis bed, and was leaning heavily against one of the posts, and the veryfashion of his countenance was changed; his hair stood upright, and hecontinually smote his large, nervous hands together.

"Andrew," said his mother, angrily, "you are just giving yourself up toSatan. Your passion is beyond seeing, or hearing tell of. And thinkshame of yourself for calling your sister a 'thief and a 'liar' andwhat not. I wonder what's come over you! Step ben the house, and talkreasonable to us."

"Leave me to myself! Leave me to myself! I tell you both to go away.Will you go? both of you?"

"I'm your mother, Andrew."

"Then for God's sake have pity on me, and leave me alone with mysorrow! Go! Go! I'm not a responsible creature just now--" and hispassion was so stern and terrific that neither of them dared to faceany increase of it.

So they left him alone and went back to the sputtering fireside--forthe rain was now beating down the chimney--and in awe-struck whispersChristina told her mother of the money which Andrew had hoarded throughlong laborious years, and of the plans which the loss of it would breakto pieces.

"There would be a thousand pounds, or near by it. Mother, I'mthinking," said Christina. "You know well how scrimping with himself hehas been. Good fishing or bad fishing, he never had a shilling to spendon any one. He bought nothing other boys bought; when he was a laddie,and when he grew to the boats, you may mind that he put all he madeaway somewhere. And he made a deal more than folks thought. He had abit venture here, and a bit there, and they must have prosperedfinely."

"Not they!" said Janet angrily. "What good has come of them? What good_could_ come of money, hid away from everybody but himself? Why didn'the tell his mother? If her thoughts had been round about his siller, itwould not have gone an ill road. A man who hides away his money is justa miracle of stupidity, for the devil knows where it is if no decenthuman soul does."

It was a mighty sorrow to bear, even for the two women, and Janet weptlike a child over the hopes blasted before she knew of them. "He shouldhave told us both long since," she sobbed. "I would have been prayingfor the bonnie ship building for him, every plank would have been laidwith a blessing. And as I sat quiet in my house, I would have beenthinking of my son Captain Binnie, and many a day would have been abright day, that has been but a middling one. So selfish as the lad hasbeen!"

"Maybe it wasn't pure selfishness, Mother. He was saving for a goodend."

"It was pure selfishness! He was that way even about Sophy. Nobody buthimself must have word or look from her, and the lassie just wearied ofhim. Why wouldn't she? He put himself and her in a circle, and thenmade a wilderness all round about it. And Sophy wanted company, forwhen a girl says 'a man is all the world to her,' she doesn't mean thatnobody else is to come into her world. She would be a wicked lass ifshe did."

"Well, Mother, he lost her, and he bore his loss like a man."

"Ay, men often bear the loss of love easier than the loss of money.I've seen far more fuss made over the loss of a set of fishing-nets,than over the brave fellows that handled them. And to think of ourAndrew hiding away his gold all these years for his own hoping andpleasuring! A perfectly selfish pleasuring! The gold might well takewings to itself and fly away. He should have clipped the wings of itwith giving a piece to the kirk now and then, and a piece to his motherand sister at odd times, and the flying wouldn't have been so easy. Nowhe has lost the whole, and he well deserves it I'm thinking his Makeris dourly angry with him for such ways, and I am angry myself."

"Ah well, Mother, there is no use in our anger; the lad is sufferingenough, and for the rest we must just leave him to the general mercy ofGod."

"'General mercy of God.' Don't let me hear you use the like of suchwords, Christina. The minister would tell you it is a very looseexpression and a very dangerous doctrine. He was reproving ElderMcInnes for them very words, and any good minister will be keeping histhumb on such a wide outgate. Andrew knows well that he has to have theparticular and elected grace of God to keep him where he ought to be.This hid-away money has given him a sore tumble, and I will tell him sovery plainly."

"Don't trouble him, Mother. He will not bear words on it, even fromyou."

"He will have to bear them. I am not feared for Andrew Binnie, and heshall not be left in ignorance of his sin. Whether he knows it or not,he has done a deed that would make a very poor kind of a Christianashamed to look the devil in the face; and I be to let him know it."

But in the morning Andrew looked so utterly wretched, that Janet couldonly pity him. "I'll not be the one to break the bruised reed," shesaid to Christina, for the miserable man sat silent with dropped eyesthe whole day long, eating nothing, seeing nothing, and apparently lostto all interests outside his own bewildering, utterly hopelessspeculations. It was not until another letter came about the ship hewas to command, that he roused himself sufficiently to write and cancelthe whole transaction. He could not keep his promises financially, andthough he was urged to make some other offer, he would have nothingfrom The Fleet on any humbler basis than his first proposition. With afoolish pride, born of his great disappointment and anger, he turnedhis back on his broken hopes, and went sullen and sorrowful back to hisfishing-boat.

He had never been even in his family a very social man. Jokes and songsand daffing of all kinds were alien to his nature. Yet his grave andpleasant smile had been a familiar thing, and gentle words had alwayshitherto come readily to his lips. But after his ruinous loss, heseldom spoke unless it was to his mother. Christina he noticed not,either by word or look, and the poor girl was broken-hearted under thissilent accusation. For she felt that Andrew doubted both her and Jamie,and though she was indignant at the suspicion, it eat its way into herheart and tortured her.

For put the thought away as she would, the fact of Jamie's derelictionthat unfortunate night would return and return, and always with a moresuspicious aspect. Who was the man he was drinking with? Nobody in thevillage but Jamie, knew him. He had come and gone in a night. It waspossible that, having missed the boat, Jamie had brought his friend upthe cliff to call on her; that, seeing the light in Andrew's room, theyhad looked in at the window, and so might have seen Andrew and herselfstanding over the money, and then watched until it was returned to itshiding-place. Jamie _had_ come whistling in a very pronounced manner upto the house--that might have been because he had been drinking, andthen again, it might not--and then there was his quarrel with Andrew!Was that a planned affair, in order to give the other man time to carryoff the box? She could not remember whether the curtain had been drawnacross the window or not; and when she dared to name this doubt toAndrew, he only answered--

"What for are you asking after spilled milk?"

The whole circumstance was so mysterious that it stupified her. And yetshe felt that it contained all the elements of sorrow and separationbetween Jamie and herself. However, she kept assuring her heart thatJamie would be in Glasgow the following week; and she wrote a letter tomeet him, expressing a strong desire that he would "be sure to come toPittendurie, as there was most important business." But she did notlike to tell him what the business was, and Jamie did not answer therequest. In fact, the lad could not, without resigning his positionentirely. The ship had been delayed thirty hours by storms, and therewas nearly double tides of work for every man on her in order that shemight be able to keep her next sailing day. Jamie was therefore socertain that a request to go on shore about his own concerns would bedenied, that he did not even ask the favour.

But he wrote to Christina, and explained to her in the most lovingmanner the impossibility of his leaving his duties. He said "that forher sake, as well as his own, he was obligated to remain at his post,"and he assured her that this obligation was "a reasonable one."Christina believed him fully, and was satisfied, her mother only smiledwith shut lips and remained silent; but Andrew spoke with a bitternessit was hard to forgive; still harder was it to escape from the wretchedinferences his words implied.

"No wonder he keeps away from Pittendurie!" he said with a scornfullaugh. "He'll come here no more--unless he is made to come, and if itwas not for mother's sake, and for your good name, Christina, I wouldsend the constables to the ship to bring him here this very day."

And Christina could make no answer, save that of passionate weeping.For it shocked her to see, that her mother did not stand up for Jamie,but went silently about her house duties, with a face as inscrutable asthe figure-head of Andrew's boat.

Thus backward, every way flew the wheels of life in the Binnie cottage.Andrew took a grim pleasure in accepting his poverty before his motherand sister. In the home he made them feel that everything but thebarest necessities were impossible wants. His newspaper was resigned,his pipe also, after a little struggle He took his tea without sugar,he put the butter and marmalade aside, as if they were sinful luxuries,and in fact reduced his life to the most essential and primitiveconditions it was possible to live it on. And as Janet and Christinawere not the bread winners, and did not know the exact state of theBinnie finances, they felt obliged to follow Andrew's example. Ofcourse, all Christina's little extravagances of wedding preparationswere peremptorily stopped. There would be no silk wedding gown now. Itbegan to look, as if there would be no wedding at all.

For Andrew's continual suspicions, spoken and unspoken, insensiblyaffected her, and that in spite of her angry denials of them. Shefought against their influence, but often in vain, for Jamie did notcome to Pittendurie either after the second or the third voyage. He wasnot to blame; it was the winter season, and delays were constant, andthere were other circumstances--with which he had nothing whatever todo--that still put him in such a position that to ask for leave ofabsence meant asking for his dismissal. And then there would be noprospect at all of his marriage with Christina.

But the fisher folk, who had their time very much at their own commandand who were nursed in a sense of every individual's independence, didnot realise Jamie's dilemma. It could not be made intelligent to them,and they began to wonder, and to ask embarrassing questions. Very soonthere was a shake of the head and a sigh of pity whenever "poorChristina Binnie" was mentioned.

So four wretched months went by, and then one moonlight night inFebruary, Christina heard the quick footstep and the joyous whistle sheknew so well. She stood up trembling with pleasure; and as Jamie flungwide the door, she flew to his arms with an irrepressible cry. For someminutes he saw nothing and cared for nothing but the girl clasped tohis breast; but as she began to sob, he looked at Janet--who hadpurposely gone to the china rack that she might have her back tohim--and then at Andrew who stood white and stern, with both hands inhis pockets, regarding him.

The young man was confounded by this reception, he released himselffrom Christina's embrace, and stepping forward, asked anxiously "Whatever is the matter with you, Andrew? You aren't like yourself at all.Why, you are ill, man! Oh, but I'm vexed to see you so changed."

"Where is my money, James Logan? Where is the gold and the bank-notesyou took from me?--the savings of all my lifetime."

"Your money, Andrew? Your gold and bank-notes? _Me_ take your money!Why, man, you are either mad or joking--and I'm not liking such jokeseither." Then he turned to Christina and asked, "What does he mean, mydearie?"

"I mean this," cried Andrew with gathering passion, "I mean that I hadnearly a thousand pounds taken out of my room yon night that you shouldhave gone to the boats--and that you did _not_ go."

"Do you intend to say that I took your thousand pounds? Mind yourwords, Andrew Binnie!" and as he spoke, he put Christina behind him andstood squarely before Andrew. And his face was a flame of passion.

"I am most sure you took it. Prove to me that you did not."

Before the words were finished, they were answered with a blow, theblow was promptly returned; and then the two men closed in a deadlystruggle. Christina was white and sick with terror, but withal gladthat Andrew had found himself so promptly answered. Janet turnedsharply at the first blow, and threw herself between the men. All theold prowess of the fish-wife was roused in her.

"How dare you?" she cried in a temper quite equal to their own. "I'llhave no cursing and fighting in my house," and with a twist of her handin her son's collar, she threw him back in his chair. Then she turnedto Jamie and cried angrily--

"Jamie Logan, my bonnie lad, if you have got nothing to say foryourself, you'll do well to take your way down the cliff."

"I have been called a 'thief' in this house," he answered; and woundedfeeling and a bitter sense of wrong made his voice tremble. "I camehere to kiss my bride; and I know nothing at all of what Andrew means.I will swear it. Give me the Bible."

"Let my Bible alone," shouted Andrew. "I'll have no man swear to a lieon my Bible. Get out of my house, James Logan, and be thankful that Idon't call the officers to take care of you."

"There is a mad man inside of you, Andrew Binnie, or a devil of somekind, and you are not fit to be in the same house with good women. Comewith me, Christina. I'll marry you tonight at the Largo minister'shouse. Come my dear lassie. Never mind aught you have, but yourplaidie."

Christina rose and put out her hand. Andrew leaped to his feet andstrode between them.

"I will strike you to the ground, if you dare to touch my sisteragain," he shouted, and if Janet had not taken both his hands in herown strong grip, Andrew would have kept his threat. Then Janet's angerturned most unreasonably upon Christina--

"Go ben the house," she screamed. "Go ben the house, you worrying,whimpering lassie. You will be having the whole village fighting aboutyou the next thing."

"I am going with Jamie, Mother."

"I will take very good care, you do _not_ go with Jamie. There is not asoul, but Jamie Logan, will leave this house tonight. I would just liketo see any other man or woman try it," and she looked defiantly both atAndrew and Christina.

"I ran the risk of losing my berth to come here," said Jamie. "Morefool, I. I have been called 'thief' and 'loon' for doing it. I came foryour sake, Christina, and now you must go with me for my sake. Comeaway, my dearie, and there is none that shall part us more."

Again Christina rose, and again her mother interfered. "You will go outof this house alone, Jamie Logan. I don't know whether you are right orwrong. I know nothing about that weary siller. But I do know there hasbeen nothing but trouble to my boy since he saved you from the sea. Iam not saying it is your fault; but the sea has been against him eversince, and now you will go away, and you will stay away."

"Christina, am I to go?"

"Go, Jamie, but I will come to you, and there is none that shall keepme from you."

Then Jamie went, and far down on the sands Christina heard him call,"Good-bye, Christina! Good-bye!" And she would have answered him, butJanet had locked the door, and the key was in her pocket. Then forhours the domestic storm raged, Andrew growing more and more positiveand passionate, until even Janet was alarmed, and with tears andcoaxing persuaded him to go to bed. Still in this hurly burly oftemper, Christina kept her purpose intact. She was determined to go toGlasgow as soon as she could get outside. If she was in time for amarriage with Jamie, she would be his wife at once. If Jamie had gone,then she would hire herself out until the return of his ship.

This was the purpose she intended to carry out in the morning, butbefore the dawn her mother awakened her out of a deep sleep. She was ina sweat of terror.

"Run up the cliff for Thomas Roy," she cried, "and then send Sandy forthe doctor."

"What is the matter, Mother."

"Your brother Andrew is raving, and clean beyond himself, and I'mfeared for him, and for us all. Quick Christina! There is not a momentto lose!"

CHAPTER VII

THE BEGINNING OF THE END

On this same night the Mistress of Braelands sat musing by the glowingbit of fire in her bedroom, while her maid, Allister, was folding awayher silk dinner-gown, and making the preparations for the night'stoilet. She was a stately, stern-looking woman, with that air ofauthority which comes from long and recognised position. Herdressing-gown of pale blue flannel fell amply around her tall form; herwhite hair was still coiled and puffed in an elaborate fashion, andthere was at the wrist-bands of her sleeves a fall of lace which halfcovered her long, shapely white hands. She was pinching its plaitsmechanically, and watching the effect as she idly turned them in thefirelight to catch the gleam of opal and amethyst rings. But thisaccompaniment to her thoughts was hardly a conscious one; she hadadmired her hands for so many years that she was very apt to give totheir beauty this homage of involuntary observation, even when herthoughts were fixed on subjects far-off and alien to them.

"The Lord knows, Madame, and it is well he does; for it is little weknow of ourselves and the ways we walk in."

"The Lord looks after his own, Allister, and Mr. Archibald was given tohim by kirk and parents before he was a month old. But if a man marriessuch a woman as you know nothing about, and then goes her ways, whatwill you say then?"

"It is not as bad as that, Madame. Mrs. Archibald is of well-knownpeople, though poor."

"Though low-born, Allister. Poverty can be tholed, and even respected;but for low birth there is no remedy but being born over again."

"Well, Madame, she is Braelands now, and that is a cloak to cover alldefects; and if I was you I would just see that it did so."

"She is my son's wife, and must be held as such, both by gentle andsimple."

"And there is few ills that have not a good side to them, Madame. IfMr. Archibald had married Miss Roberta Elgin, as you once feared hewould do, there would have been a flitting for you and for me, Madame.Miss Roberta would have had the whole of Braelands House to herself,and the twenty-two rooms of it wouldn't have been enough for her. Andshe would have taken the Braelands's honour and glory on her ownshoulders. It would have been 'Mrs. Archibald Braelands' here and thereand everywhere, and you would have been pushed out of sight andhearing, and passed by altogether, like as not; for if youth and beautyand wealth and good blood set themselves to have things their own way,which way at all will age that is not rich keep for itself? Sure asdeath, Madame, you would have had to go to the Dower House, which isbut a mean little place, though big enough, no doubt, for all thefriends and acquaintances that would have troubled themselves to knowyou there."

"You are not complimentary, Allister. I think I have few friends whowould _not_ have followed me to the Dower House."

"Surely, Madame, you may as well think so. But carriages aye stop atbig houses; indeed, the very coachmen and footmen and horses are deadset against calling at cottages. There is many a lady who would befeared to ask her coachman to call at the Dower House. But what for amI talking? There is no occasion to think that Mrs. Archibald will everdream of sending you out of his house."

"I came here a bride, nearly forty years ago, Allister," she said, witha touch of sentimental pity for herself in the remembrance.

"So you have had a long lease, Madame, and one like to be longer; fornever a better son than your son; and I do think for sure that the ladyhe has married will be as biddable as a very child with you."

"I hope so. For she will have everything to learn about society, andwho can teach her better than I can, Allister?"

"No one, Madame; and Mrs. Archibald was ever good at the uptake. I amvery sure if you will show her this and that, and give her the wordhere and there yourself, Madame, there will be no finer lady in Fifebefore the year has come and gone. And she cannot be travelling withMr. Archibald without learning many a thing all the winter long."

"Yes, they will not be home before the spring, I hear."

"And oh, Madame, by that date you will have forgot that all was not asyou wanted it! And no doubt you will give the young things the lovingwelcome they are certain to be longing for."

"I do not know, Allister. The marriage was a great sorrow, and shame,and disappointment to me. I am not sure that I have forgiven it."

"Lady Beith was saying you never would forgive it. She was saying thatyou could never forgive any one's faults but your own."

"Lady Beith is very impertinent. And pray what faults has Lady Beithever seen in me?"

"It was her general way of speaking, Madame. She has that way."

"Then you might tell Lady Beith's woman, that such general ways ofspeaking are extremely vulgar. When her ladyship speaks of the Mistressof Braelands again, I will ask her to refer to me, particularly. I havemy own virtues as well as my own faults, and my own position, and myown influence, and I do not go into the generalities of life. I am theMistress of Braelands yet, I hope."

"I hope so, Madame. As I was saying, Mrs. Archibald is biddable as achild; but then again, she is quite capable of taking the rudder intoher own hands, and driving in the teeth of the wind. You can't ever besure of fisher blood. It is like the ocean, whiles calm as a sleepingbaby, whiles lashing itself into a very fury. There is both this andthat in the Traills, and Mrs. Archibald is one of them."

"Any way and every way, this marriage is a great sorrow to me."

"I am not disputing that, Madame; but I am sure you remember what theminister was saying to you at his last visitation--that every sorrowyou got the mastery over was a benefactor."

"The minister is not always orthodox, Allister."

"He is a very good man; every one is saying that."

"No doubt, no doubt, but he deviates."

"Well then, Madame, even if the marriage be as bad as you fancy it, badthings as well as good ones come to an end, and life, after all, islike a bit of poetry I picked up somewhere, which says:

And it's the turn now for the young people to be happy. Cold and bleakit is here on the Fife coast, but they are among roses and sunshine andso God bless them, I say, and keep us and every one from cutting shorttheir turn of happiness. You had your bride time, Madame, and whenAngus McAllister first took me to his cottage in Strathmoyer, I thoughtI was on a visit to Paradise."

"Give me my glass of negus, and then I will go to bed. Everybody hastaken to preaching and advising lately, and that is not the kind offore-talk that spares after-talk--not it, Allister."

She sunk then into unapproachable silence, and Allister knew that sheneeded not try to move her further that night in any direction. Hereyes were fixed upon the red coals, but she was really thinking of theroses and sunshine of the South, and picturing to herself her son andhis bride, wandering happily amid the warmth and beauty.

In reality, they were crossing the Braelands's moor at that very momentThe rain was beating against the closed windows of their coach, and thehorses floundering heavily along the boggy road. Sophy's head rested onher husband's shoulder, but they were not talking, nor had they spokenfor some time. Both indeed were tired and depressed, and Archie atleast was unpleasantly conscious of the wonderment their unexpectedreturn would cause.

The end of April or the beginning of May had been the time appointed,and yet here they were, at the threshold of their home, in the middleof the winter. Sophy's frail health had been Archie's excuse for aseason in the South with her; and she was coming back to Scotland whenthe weather was at its very bleakest and coldest. One excuse afteranother formed itself in Archie's mind, only to be peremptorilydismissed. "It is no one's business but our own," he kept assuringhimself, "and I will give neither reason nor apology but my wife'sdesire." and yet he knew that reasons and apologies would be asked, andhe was fretting inwardly at their necessity, and wondering vaguely ifwomen ever did know what they really wanted.

For to go to France and Germany and Italy, had seemed to Sophy the veryessence of every joy in life. Before her marriage, she had sat byArchie's side hour after hour, listening to his descriptions of foreignlands, and dreaming of all the delights that were to meet her in them.She had started on this bridal trip with all her senses set to anunnatural key of expectation, and she had, of course, sufferedcontinual disappointments and disillusions. The small frets andsicknesses of travel, the loneliness of being in places where she couldnot speak even to her servants, or go shopping without an attendant,the continual presence of what was strange--of what wounded herprejudices and very often her conscience,--and the constant absenceof all that was familiar and approved, were in themselves no slightcause of unhappiness.

Yet it had been a very gradual disillusion, and one mitigated by manyexperiences that had fully justified even Sophy's extravagantanticipations. The trouble, in the main, was one common to a greatmajority of travellers for pleasure--a mind totally unprepared forthe experience.

She grew weary of great cities which had no individual character orhistory in her mind; weary of fine hotels in which she was of nospecial importance; weary of art which had no meaning for her. Herchild-like enthusiasms, which at first both delighted and embarrassedher husband, faded gradually away; the present not only lost its charm,but she began to look backward to the homely airs and scenes of Fife,and to suffer from a nostalgia that grew worse continually.

However, Archie bore her unreasonable depression with greatconsideration. She was but a frail child after all, and she was in acondition of health demanding the most affectionate patience andtenderness he could give her. Besides, it was no great sin in his eyesto be sick with longing for dear old Scotland. He loved his nativeland; and his little mountain blue-bell, trembling in every breeze, anddrooping in every hour of heat and sunshine, appealed to the very bestinstincts of his nature. And when Sophy began to voice her longing, tocry a little in his arms, and to say she was wearying for a sight ofthe great grey sea round her Fife home, Archie vowed he was homesick asa man could be, and asked, "why they should stop away from their owndear land any longer?"

"People will wonder and talk so, Archie They will say unkind things--they will maybe say we are not happy together."

"Let them talk. What care we? And we are happy together. Do you want togo back to Scotland tomorrow? today--this very hour?"

"Aye. I do, Archie. And I am that weak and poorly, if I don't go soon,maybe I will have to wait a long time, and then you know"

"Yes, I know. And that would never, never do. Braelands of Fife cannotrun the risk of having his heir born in a foreign country. Why, itwould be thrown up to the child, lad and man, as long as he lived! Socall your maid, my bonnie Sophy, and set her to packing all your brawsand pretty things, and we will turn our faces to Scotland's hills andbraes tomorrow morning."

Thus it happened that on that bleak night in February, Archie Braelandsand his wife came suddenly to their home amid the stormy winds andrains of a stormy night. Madame heard the wheels of their carriage asshe sat sipping her negus, and thinking over her conversation withAllister and her alert soul instantly divined _who_ the late comerswere.

"Give me my silk morning gown and my brocade petticoat, Allister," shecried, as she rose up hastily and set down her glass. "Mr. Archibaldhas come home; his carriage is at the door--haste ye, woman!"

"Will you be heeding your silks to-night, Madame?"

"Get them at once. Quick! Do you think I will meet the bride in aflannel dressing-gown? No, no! I am not going to lose ground the firsthour."

With nervous haste the richer garments were donned, and just as thefinal gold brooch was clasped, Archie knocked at his mother's door. Sheopened to him with her own hands, and took him to her heart with aneffusive affection she rarely permitted herself to exhibit.

"I am so glad that you are dressed, Mother," he said. "Sophy must notmiss your welcome, and the poor little woman is just weary to death."Then he whispered some words to her, which brought a flush of pride andjoy to his own face, but no such answering response to Madame's.

"Indeed," she replied, "I am sorry she is so tired. It seems to me,that the women of this generation are but weak creatures."

Then she took her son's arm, and went down to the parlour, whereservants were re-kindling the fire, and setting a table withrefreshments for the unexpected guests. Sophy was resting on a sofadrawn towards the hearth. Archie had thrown his travelling cloak ofblack fox over her, and her white, flower-like face, surrounded by theblack fur, had a singularly pathetic beauty. She opened her large blueeyes as Madame approached and looked at her with wistful entreaty; andMadame, in spite of all her pre-arrangements of conduct, was unable atthat hour not to answer the appeal for affection she saw in them. Shestooped and kissed the childlike little woman, and Archie watched thistoken of reconciliation and promise with eyes wet with happiness.

When supper was served, Madame took her usual place at the head of thetable, and Archie noticed the circumstance, though it did not seem aproper time to make any remark about it. For Sophy was not able to eat,and did not rise from her couch; and Madame seemed to fall so properlyinto her character of hostess, that it would have been churlish to havemade the slightest dissent. Yet it was a false kindness to both; for inthe morning Madame took the same position, and Archie felt less ablethan on the previous night to make any opposition, though he had toldhimself continually on his homeward journey that he would not sufferSophy to be imposed upon, and would demand for her the utmost title ofher rights as his wife.

In this resolve, however, he had forgot to take into account hismother's long and absolute influence over him. When she was absent, itwas comparatively easy to relegate her to the position she ought tooccupy; when she was present, he found it impossible to say or doanything which made her less than Mistress of Braelands. And during thefirst few weeks after her return, Sophy helped her mother-in-lawconsiderably against herself. She was so anxious to please, so anxiousto be loved, so afraid of making trouble for Archie, that she submittedwithout protest to one infringement after another on her rights as thewife of the Master of Braelands. All the same she was dumbly consciousof the wrong being done to her; and like a child, she nursed her senseof the injustice until it showed itself in a continual mood of sullen,silent protest.

After the lapse of a month or more, she became aware that even her illhealth was used as a weapon against her, and she suddenly resolved tothrow off her lassitude, and assert her right to go out and call uponher friends. But she was petulant and foolish in the carrying out ofthe measure. She had made up her mind to visit her aunt on thefollowing day, and though the weather was bitterly cold and damp, sheadhered to her resolution. Madame, at first politely, finally withprovoking positiveness, told her "she would not permit her to risk herlife, and a life still more precious, for any such folly."

Then Sophy rose, with a sudden excitement of manner, and rang the bell.When the servant appeared, she ordered the carriage to be ready for herin half an hour. Madame waited until they were alone, and then said:

"Sophy, go to your room and lie down. You are not fit to go out. Ishall counter-order the carriage in your name."

"You will not," cried the trembling, passionate girl. "You have orderedand counter-ordered in my name too much. You will, in the future, mindyour own affairs, and leave me to attend to mine."

"When Archie comes back"

"You will tell him all kinds of lies. I know that."

"I do not lie."

"Perhaps not; but you misrepresent things so, that you make itimpossible for Archie to get at the truth. I want to see my aunt. Youhave kept me from her, and kept her from me, until I am sick for asight of those who _really_ love me. I am going to Aunt Kilgour's thisvery morning, whether you like it or not."

"You shall not leave this house until Archie comes back from Largo. Iwill not take the responsibility."

"We shall see. _I_ will take the responsibility myself. _I_ am mistressof Braelands. You will please remember that fact. And I know my rights,though I have allowed you to take them from me."

"Sophy, listen to me."

"I am going to Aunt Kilgour's."

"Archie will be very angry."

"Not if you will let him judge for himself. Anyway, I don't care. I amgoing to see my aunt! You expect Archie to be always thinking offeelings, and your likes and dislikes. I have just as good a right tocare about my aunt's feelings. She was all the same as mother to me. Ihave been a wicked lassie not to have gone to her lang syne."

"Wicked lassie! Lang syne! I wish you would at least try to speak likea lady."

"I am not a lady. I am just one of God's fisher folk. I want to see myown kith and kin. I am going to do so."

"You are not--until your husband gives you permission."

"Permission! do you say? I will go on my own permission, SophyBraelands's permission."

"It is a shame to take the horses out in such weather--and poor oldThomas."

"Shame or not, I shall take them out."

"Indeed, no! I cannot permit you to make a fool and a laughing-stock ofyourself." She rang the bell sharply and sent for the coachman When heappeared, she said:

"Thomas, I think the horses had better not go out this morning. It isbitterly cold, and there is a storm coming from the northeast. Do younot think so?"

"It is a bad day, Madame, and like to be worse."

"Then we will not go out."

As Madame uttered the words, Sophy walked rapidly forward. All thepassion of her Viking ancestors was in her face, which had undergone asort of transfiguration. Her eyes flashed, her soft curly yellow hairseemed instinct with a strange life and brilliancy, and she said withan authority that struck Madame with amazement and fear:

"Thomas, you will have the carriage at the door in fifteen minutes,exactly," and she drew out her little jewelled watch, and gave him thetime with a smiling, invincible calmness.

Thomas looked from one woman to the other, and said, fretfully, "A mancanna tak' twa contrary orders at the same minute o' time. What will Ido in the case?"

"You will do as I tell you, Thomas," said Madame. "You have done so fortwenty years. Have you come to any scath or wrong by it?"

"If the carriage is not at the door in fifteen minutes, you will leaveBraelands this night, Thomas," said Sophy. "Listen! I give you fifteenminutes; after that I shall walk into Largo, and you can answer to yourmaster for it. I am Mistress of Braelands. Don't forget that fact ifyou want to keep your place, Thomas."

She turned passionately away with the words, and left the room. Infifteen minutes she went to the front door in her cloak and hood, andthe carriage was waiting there. "You will drive me to my aunt Kilgour'sshop," she said with an air of reckless pride and defiance. It pleasedher at that hour to humble herself to her low estate. And it pleasedThomas also that she had done so. His sympathy was with the fishergirl. He was delighted that she had at last found courage to assertherself, for Sophy's wrongs had been the staple talk of thekitchen-table and fireside.

"No born lady I ever saw," he said afterwards to the cook, "could haveheld her own better. It will be an even fight between them two now, andI will bet my shilling on fisherman Traill's girl."

"Madame has more wit, and more _hold out_" answered the cook. "Mrs.Archibald is good for a spurt, but I'll be bound she cried her eyes redat Griselda Kilgour's, and was as weak as a baby."

This opinion was a perfectly correct one. Once in her aunt's littleback parlour, Sophy gave full sway to her childlike temper. She toldall her wrongs, and was comforted by her kinswoman's interest and pity,and strengthened in her resolution to resist Madame's interference withher life. And then the small black teapot was warmed and filled, andSophy begged for a herring and a bit of oatcake; and the two women satclose to one another, and Miss Kilgour told Sophy all the gossip andclash of gossip there had been about Christina Binnie and her lover,and how the marriage had been broken off, no one knowing just why, butmany thinking that since Jamie Logan had got a place on "The Line," hewas set on bettering himself with a girl something above the like ofChristina Binnie.

And as they talked Helen Marr came into the shop for a yard of ribbon,and said it was the rumour all through Pittendurie, that Andrew Binniewas all but dead, and folks were laying all the blame upon the Mistressof Braelands, for that every one knew that Andrew had never held up hishead an hour since her marriage. And though Miss Kilgour did notencourage this phase of gossip, yet the woman would persist indescribing his sufferings, and the poverty that had come to the Binnieswith the loss of their only bread-winner, and the doctors to pay, andthe medicine folks said they had not the money to buy, and much more ofthe same sort, which Sophy heard every word of, knowing also that HelenMarr must have seen her carriage at the door, and so, knowing of herpresence, had determined that she should hear it.

Certainly if Helen had wished to wound her to the very heart, shesucceeded. When Miss Kilgour got rid of her customer, and came back toSophy, she found her with her face in the pillow, sobbing passionatelyabout the trouble of her old friends. She did not name Andrew, but thethought of his love and suffering hurt her sorely, and she could notendure to think of Janet's and Christina's long hardships and sorrow.For she knew well how much they would blame her, and the thought oftheir anger, and of her own apparent ingratitude, made her sick withshame and grief. And as they talked of this new trouble, and Sophy sentmessages of love and pity to Janet and Christina, the shop-bell rungviolently, and Sophy heard her husband's step, and in another moment hewas at her side, and quite inclined to be very angry with her forventuring out in such miserable weather.

Then Sophy seized her opportunity, and Miss Kilgour left them alone forthe explanation that was better to be made there than at Braelands. Andfor once Archie took his wife's part without reservation. He was notindeed ill-pleased that she had assumed her proper position, and whenhe slipped a crown into Thomas's hand, the man also knew that he haddone wisely. Indeed there was something in the coachman's face and airwhich affected Madame unpleasantly, before she noticed that Sophy hadreturned in her husband's company, and that they were evidently on themost affectionate terms.

"I have lost this battle," she said to herself, and she wiselyretreated to her own room, and had a nominal headache, and a verygenuine heartache about the loss.

All day long Sophy was at an unnatural pitch, all day long she exertedherself, as she had not done for weeks and months, to entertain andkeep her husband at her side, and all day long her pretty wifelytriumph was bright and unbroken. The very servants took a delight inministering to it, and Madame was not missed in a single item of thehousehold routine. But about midnight there was a great and suddenchange. Bells were frantically rung, lights flew about the house, andthere was saddling of horses and riding in hot haste into Largo for anyor all the doctors that could be found.

Then Madame came quietly from her seclusion, and resumed her place ashead of the household, for the little mistress of one day lay in herchamber quite unconscious of her lost authority. Some twelve hourslater, the hoped-for heir of Braelands was born, and died, and Sophy,on the very outermost shoal of life, felt the wash and murmur of thatdark river which flows to the Eternal Sea.

It was no time to reproach the poor little wife, and yet Madame did notscruple to do so. "She had warned Sophy,--she had begged her not to goout--she had been insulted for endeavouring to prevent what had come topass just as she had predicted." And in spite of Archie's love andpity, her continual regrets did finally influence him. He began tothink he had been badly used, and to agree with Madame in herassertions that Sophy must be put under some restrictions, andsubjected to some social instruction.

"The idea of the Braelands's carriage standing two hours at GriseldaKilgour's shop door! All the town talking about it! Every one wonderingwhat had happened at Braelands, to drive your wife out of doors in suchweather. All sorts of rumours about you and Sophy, and Griselda shakingher head and sighing and looking unspeakable things, just to keep thecuriosity alive; and the crowds of gossiping women coming and going toher shop. Many a cap and bonnet has been sold to your name, Archie, nodoubt, and I can tell you my own cheeks are kept burning with the shame